


Without

by scullywolf



Series: TXF: Scenes in Between [167]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Guns, Injury, Introspection, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-10 07:19:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11122461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scullywolf/pseuds/scullywolf





	1. Chapter 1

_“You take him to the hospital.”_  
_“What about you?”_

She doesn’t answer, knows the question is more rhetorical than anything. The answer is obvious. Even if Gibson is delirious, even if he might only be imagining that he hears Mulder, she cannot ignore the possibility that he’s right. That Mulder is really out here somewhere. “You’re so close now,” he said. God, if that’s true…

_I’m sorry, Gibson. I have to try. Skinner will protect you. You can trust him._

She doesn’t know if he can hear her, if he’s out of range or too sick, but she hopes he will understand, somehow. Behind her, she can hear the car door slam and the engine turn over. The sound of the tires rolling over the dirt carries for a long time across the stillness of the desert air; when it finally fades away to nothing, Scully closes her eyes and holds her breath, as if she will be able to hear Mulder if only she tries hard enough.

The silence sits heavy in her ears. She holds the breath until her lungs start to burn, until Mulder’s name pulses in her ears in time to her heartbeat. Blinking her eyes open, then, she lets the air out in a long, slow exhalation and bends down to pick her flashlight up off the ground. She sweeps the beam in a wide arc in front of her, eyes straining into the darkness for a glimpse of something, anything, that might indicate Gibson was right.

_Where are you, Mulder? Am I really so close to finding you?_

Setting her jaw, she fixes the light in the direction Gibson was staring when she found him. It’s as good a place as any to start. 

She is struck by the sudden and intense sensation of _deja vu_ , of searching a wide open desert for a missing Mulder, so long ago. So much has changed since then, and yet here she is, five years later, doing the very same thing. She dreamed of him then, too, she realizes. The thought gives her hope, not that the horrors she's been seeing in her nightmares are real, but that if he were truly dead and gone, she would somehow know. 

Longing swells in her chest, expanding until she might burst from it, until it can only escape as a cry into the night.

“Mulder!”


	2. Chapter 2

He flinches at the sound of the gunshot, but as soon as the “other” crumples to the ground, all Gibson can feel is relief. She got him, they're safe, it's _over_.

The relief lasts for about two seconds before he flinches again, this time from Agent Scully’s voice in his head.

_NonononoNOOOOOOOO!_

At first he wonders if maybe she doesn't understand. If she thinks she really shot Mr. Skinner instead. But that can't be it; the “other” starts to dissolve into a green puddle almost immediately. There's no way she could truly mistake that for her boss.

_My last chance. Now I can't find him. How will I find him if I've killed the only one who knows where he is?_

Oh. Right. That makes sense. Of course she's upset about Agent Mulder. It's too bad he was so out of it earlier that he couldn't do a better job helping her find him.

He jumps a third time when the door flies open and more men burst into the room. They’re all human, at least, but it gets a little confusing with everyone thinking so loudly at once, all of a sudden.

_Where’s the shooter? Where’s the shooter? Where’s the… Whoa! What the--_

_Oh no, not now, not like this, not in front of him. I can't fall apart in front of Doggett. I can't, I--_

_Shitshitshitshit what the HELL happened in here? Is she okay? Somebody get help, God damn it! She looks like she got beat up pretty bad. Thank God we’re in a hospital. She’s going to be okay. She has to be okay. She--_

_Oh my God, the baby. I’ve lost Mulder, and if I lose this baby too, I don’t know what I’ll do._

Oh, yeah. He heard Mr. Skinner thinking about Agent Scully’s baby, earlier. He really does hope everything’s okay with that, but right now, all Gibson wants is to go back to his room. Actually, that’s not even true. He wants to go home. Back to the school, back to where things make sense. It’s the only place he’s ever been close to just feeling like a normal kid. (At least, as best he can imagine what that feels like.)

He can hear the hospital staff coming from halfway down the hall and braces himself for the onslaught of mental chatter. He doesn’t even realize he’s pulled himself back against the wall and shut his eyes until a hand touches his shoulder. A nurse is crouching down in front of him, looking at him with concern.

“...okay, sweetie? Come on, let’s get you back to your room. Everything’s going to be all right.”

Her thoughts come into focus like a radio channel coming into tune, the static of everyone else’s thoughts fading away into the background. It’s an unsurprising and all-too-common refrain of _Oh, this poor boy_ , which usually Gibson hates. He’s been “this poor boy” for years now, and he’s beyond sick of it. This time, though… somehow he doesn’t mind so much. He’s so tired that just letting someone take care of him for once doesn’t sound so bad.

Nodding, he lets her guide him into a wheelchair, and he breathes a sigh of relief once they’re out in the hallway and on the way back to the quiet of his room.


	3. Chapter 3

They release her from the hospital in Arizona before they release Skinner and Agent Landau, so Scully flies back to Washington alone. 

Flying out here with Skinner was strange enough, but making the return trip on her own is miserable. There is no hiding the angry bruise and abrasions on her cheek and jaw, and she tries to ignore the stares of her fellow travelers. If Mulder were here, he would undoubtedly make some sort of joke about it, leaning in with his hand pressed against her lower back and his lips accidentally-on-purpose brushing her ear. 

But that’s the point. Mulder is not here. He’s not here, and not a moment goes by where she isn’t painfully aware of that fact.

It's hard not to feel like she's abandoning him, even though she knows logically that the likelihood of finding him now is essentially nil. She spoke with Byers before she got out of the hospital; all of the microburst activity in the area has vanished, which indicates that the ship has almost certainly moved on. So far, they haven’t picked up any promising signals on any of the other satellite scans, so there is nowhere to even start looking again. However painful it may be, waiting is currently their only option.

(She refuses to accept the possibility that he will never be returned, that he is lost to her forever. It is completely unthinkable.)

Still, it feels _wrong_ , like she’s giving up on him. It certainly doesn’t help that she’s going home to a new… she can’t bring herself to think of Doggett as a partner, even just a temporary one. He claims he wants to help her find Mulder, but if he cannot accept the reality of the situation, if he insists on adhering to this _fiction_ of a desperate and dying Mulder out for revenge, then he is going to be no help to her whatsoever. And no, the irony of that sentiment is not lost on her. She’s given a lot of thought, lying in a hospital bed these past few days, to how readily she’s accepted the truth of Mulder’s abduction, and she has come to the conclusion that their partnership has always fundamentally been about balance. 

She and Mulder worked -- _work_ \-- so well together because they are able to approach problems from all sides. Even if she doesn’t share his views or theories on every case, she can see how they make sense to him. With him gone, the balance is thrown off, and she’s found herself stumbling into his role. Because _someone_ has to, and she knows him better than anyone.

(And if Agent Doggett continues to insist otherwise, she will probably end up getting fired for assault before the week is out.)

The problem, though, is that knowing how Mulder thinks is not the same as being able to think like him. He has always been able to see things other people miss, even in the more mainstream context of working as a profiler. The saddest irony of all may be that no matter how badly she or Skinner or Doggett may want to find him, the only person actually _capable_ of knowing how to get Mulder back may in fact be Mulder himself.

She lands in DC both physically and emotionally drained, moving on autopilot as she makes her way through the airport and out to the taxi stand. It’s not until they’re on the freeway that she realizes she gave the cab driver Mulder's address instead of her own.


	4. Chapter 4

When she unlocks the door without knocking this time, she tries not to think of it as giving up. Facing facts, yes. Accepting reality. Summoning the strength to carry on and take care of things in his absence. But not giving up.

Not for the first time, she thinks about what Mulder must have gone through when she was taken. They never really talked about it, not in any detail, but it isn't difficult to imagine how he might have fared, especially now that their positions are reversed. She was missing for three months; coming to terms with the fact that he might well be gone for just as long, or even longer, has not been easy, but it is a necessary starting point. She has always, always needed something to put her back up against when faced with loss, and merely sitting around, waiting and hoping for something to turn up on the Gunmen’s satellite scans, is not going to cut it.

So even though coming here tonight was not exactly a conscious decision on her part, she does her best to see it as an opportunity instead of a moment of weakness. Tomorrow, she will make arrangements to ensure his rent is paid automatically each month. She will figure out how to keep the fish fed regularly and keep his mail from piling up. On Monday, she will return to work and do her best to keep the X-Files division running smoothly. She will do for him what he did for her: hold down the fort so he at least has a home and a job to return to.

After shutting and locking the door behind herself, she squares her shoulders and carries her suitcase through to his bedroom, trying to ignore the smell of his leather couch and the sound of the fish tank filter and how the combination feels oddly like homecoming and homesickness all at once. The sheets are still rumpled from when she slept here before (was it really almost a week ago now?), and she shakes her head at the memory of waking up to the sight of Agent Doggett standing in the bedroom doorway. The thought that she now has to work with that man every day… But it helps nothing to get upset about it. It’s done, his re-assignment is final, and the only thing to do now is figure out how to deal with it.

She may not be able to fully think like Mulder, but she can try. She will have to try.

For the moment, though, she needs dinner and a shower, and possibly not in that order. Getting food delivered would involve more human interaction than she has the energy for right now, but no matter how empty Mulder’s refrigerator tends to be, he can always be counted on to have cans of soup in the cupboard. That will have to do.

***

The shower and soup help to restore her somewhat, but Scully nonetheless crawls wearily into Mulder’s bed before it is fully dark outside. She pulls his shirt over from where she left it before, trying not to think about how soon it will stop smelling like him. Even though she understands the science behind the strong connection between scent and memory, she is still taken aback just a little when, with her eyes closed, she can almost imagine he is really here with her.

“Come back to me, Mulder,” she whispers.

She desperately hopes that the dreams she’s been having are just that -- dreams. Products of anxiety and fear and imagination, nothing more. She has a feeling she knows what Mulder would say about them, but at least in this case, her reflexive skepticism is as much a defense mechanism as anything else. It is hard enough having him gone; coping will be nearly impossible if she allows herself to believe he is being tortured all the while.

God, this was the wrong thing to start thinking about just as she’s trying to fall asleep. It doesn’t even matter what the truth is. There is absolutely nothing she can do about Mulder’s current situation, and dwelling on it will only bring forward the helplessness she has been working so hard to keep at bay. She has to stay focused on what she _can_ do, or else the futility of it all will consume her entirely.

Determined to get some rest, she rolls over and tries to find a comfortable position, but she flinches when her hand hits something under the pillow. Frowning, she sits up and pulls out what feels like a book.

No, not a book. A notebook.

Her heart starts to pound as she reaches over to switch the bedside lamp back on. This could be anything, yes, but something instinctively tells her that the small, spiral bound notebook is important. She turns it over in her hands once before opening it. Mulder’s untidy scrawl covers the first page, and her stomach flips when she sees her name.

> _~~Scully~~ ,  Dana,_
> 
> _I’ve been sitting here for close to an hour now, just trying to find the words. Trying to figure out how to tell you what I learned today._

Her hand comes up to cover her mouth as she reads on, dread settling heavily in her gut when his words take a completely unexpected turn. No, no this can’t be right. 

> _Here it is in black and white: There’s something wrong with my brain. I’m sick._

Oh God, Mulder, no… Her stomach churns suddenly and violently, her hormone-flooded body responding to this revelation in the way it hasn’t since before she left for Arizona, and she lurches out of the bed. 

She sits slumped against the bathroom wall after, blinking back tears. It can't be true. The medical records, the headstone… They're fake. Diversions meant to steer the investigation in the wrong direction. Skinner was _right_ , damn it. Mulder wouldn't have kept this from her. He couldn't have. If he'd really been sick, she would have known.

Wouldn't she?

Unsteadily, she gets to her feet and rinses her mouth at the sink. She looks up into the mirror, staring hard at her reflection. What does it mean if the notebook is genuine? Does it mean Doggett was right, that Mulder faked his disappearance because he was dying and angry? No. Skinner witnessed Mulder’s abduction. He would have to be lying to her, too, and if _that_ were the case, then why would Mulder have left this record behind for her?

There is, of course, only one way to even begin finding answers to those questions. She has to read what he wrote. It is, after all, addressed to her. He must have expected her to find it eventually. She's not sure how much to read into the fact that he left it under his pillow; did he really know that she would come here to sleep, to feel closer to him, if he went missing?

She takes a deep breath and goes back to the bed, praying she will be able to stomach whatever she is about to learn.

***

He was right. She is unspeakably hurt and angry that he kept this from her. 

It doesn't take long to read the mere nine entries in the journal, and by the end of it, she doesn't know whether to sob or scream into a pillow. All this time… He’s been sick since December, and she had no idea. None. And now that she’s seen the medical records -- which she must grudgingly admit are likely genuine -- she also has no idea how on Earth it is possible that he had no outward symptoms.

The final entry, at least, puts to rest any notion that Doggett’s theory holds water. Whatever else he may have withheld from her, Scully is now certain that Mulder didn’t fake his disappearance.

> _Dana,_
> 
> _If you are reading this, then I officially have more to apologize for than I ever have. This isn’t the way I wanted you to find out about any of this, but I can only blame myself for that. I won’t ask for your forgiveness because I know I don’t deserve it. I can only hope to ask for your understanding._
> 
> _If Skinner and I find what we’re looking for in Oregon, I have to pursue it to the fullest. This would be true whether or not I had something wrong with my brain (you know that), but I won’t deny there’s a part of me that hopes they can just… fix me. You and I both know what they’re capable of._
> 
> _Please don’t lose yourself searching for me. This ship has been hard enough to find while it’s sitting still. I promise that I will do everything in my power to come back to you. Abductees do come back, Dana. Even Samantha came back, if I’d only known where to look for her. I ~~know~~ trust that you won’t give up on me, and I swear that, if you’ll let me, I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. _
> 
> _I’m sorry. For everything._
> 
> _-M_

If he thought his apologies would make her feel better, he thought wrong. She honestly isn’t sure she has ever felt so betrayed.

Any vindication she might have found in the knowledge that he was indeed abducted is tempered by the knowledge that he didn’t even try to avoid it. On some level, she supposes she has always known that if Mulder were given the opportunity to experience, first-hand, the phenomenon he has spent almost his entire career investigating, he would take it. At the same time, she hoped (foolishly, it would seem) that after things changed between them, he might think twice about barging off into danger and leaving her behind.

That he kept this illness from her as well only pours salt in the wound.

What in the hell is she supposed to do, now? He knew, he _knew_ , that she would be devastated by this. For all his supposed heartbreak over the idea that she would have to carry on without him, he still left her to process everything completely alone. Acknowledging his own selfishness doesn’t help a damned thing.

When the tears come this time, she lets them fall. They don’t stop until she’s cried herself to sleep.


End file.
